


Strangers We've Become

by bulletandsophia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Deities, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11656926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletandsophia/pseuds/bulletandsophia
Summary: His skin prickles at the simple thought of it, of what had just transpired, of who had just arrived. And the weight that gathered in his chest feels like a thousand stars have buried themselves there.Jon takes a breath—and takes her in.“Hello, Sansa.”





	Strangers We've Become

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write something as grand and perhaps even as abstract as this for Jonsa ! And what with the happenings on S7, allow me to indulge myself in this. I hope you enjoy! :)

 

Jon stares despairingly down below the rocky shore where the sea crashes like angry giants. But the waves, despite the brutality, seem to allure him further and make himself want to fall to their caress where he knows each and every heavy swirl intends to only lead him back to the place he vows never to return to again.

 _Or so he tells himself_ —for the pull never leaves him no matter how much he wants to get away and not care. So much so that the idea of not knowing shreds him to billions of pieces like the scattered stars in the galaxy he once arranged himself. This irony, where he pretends not to obsessively and possessively finally sate his longing for her, also remains to be the sole reason why he keeps hiding behind the quiet landscapes he creates (and destroys all at the same time); the mountains he moved to pave way for the long, winding streams and rivers where she can be at play—re-energize, recover, and come back up to be one with the air; the hills that view vast plateaus she can fill with mists and fogs and low gliding clouds; nooks, crannies, and crevices on rocks and trees and boulders he shaped with his own hands to let the falling snow collect and gather and create a wonderfully white and enchanting forest she loves. All of it and everything, just for her to notice. Just for her to notice him.

Far away, on the horizon, Jon sees the dark clouds take form and rumble. Lightning flashes one too many times but the view remains the stagnant image already and heavily etched inside his mind, the countless times he’s seen the same spectacle. The imagery and the splendor of such a performance only leaves him lonely and dissatisfied now for he does not want to see it. This rain. This storm. It only reminds him of a certain wrath spewed thousands and thousands of years ago and of the painful cry he heard amongst the angry growls of the wind that still pierces something in him he fails to escape the torment; this sin he has made.

He does not want to see it.

With a resigned sigh, as the wind sways and weaves through the grass of the cliff, Jon takes a step backward and waits, digging his hands deeper in the pockets of his jacket and hopes that his call and his plea from some time ago will be answered today, any moment now. Desperately, he wishes to make one final gesture and throw his entire being into the sea and build an island, a mountain— _he does not know_ —but only for her to notice again.

He does not even take regard at the prospect and at the silly notion of this waiting; of how long he must stay on this cliff. Only the briefest and most honest confession of _forever_ flashes in his head for determinedly, he will (and with no second thoughts) do so.

He would wait. Forever.

But it’s when the storm’s howling unexpectedly turns into soft whistles and the sharp winds deflate into a bearable, comfortable breeze that to Jon’s relief and astonishment, he realizes that any chances of success he hoped for today are simply _quite possible_ for this wind, this air, and of how it smells like winter blooms, can only be purposefully created by her. Her and her alone.

Keeping his excitement at bay, he closes his eyes in an attempt to grasp her in full; how the wind that is her hand touches him, her arms that envelope him. Right in this moment, any semblance of escape, cowardice, or of running away do not exist. He would never leave this spot for as long as she doesn’t.

When the wind settles like a murmur around him, Jon opens his eyes to see a clearer sky. Still gray but muted and finally soft enough to let some of the sun peek in just a little. This slight change—in the sound of the winds, in the crash of the ocean, in the disappearing grumbles of thunder and the darkened skies—presents to him another inevitable truth for he knows what, _or who_ , have caused this all, this sudden brightness and life. His skin prickles at the simple thought of it, of what had just transpired, of who had just arrived. And the weight that gathered in his chest feels like a thousand stars have buried themselves there.

Jon takes a breath—and takes her in.

“Hello, Sansa.”

He hears her shuffle behind him as she walks and grazes the grassy cliff. He wants to turn, to finally see her, but the notion is too much and too great that the fear does not allow him to make any attempts. But endlessly, as if her shadow, as if a portion of her own limbs, he always knows and he always feels.

“Hello, Jon.”

He wants to kick himself then because surely, he must turn his head and meet her. But while the yearning crawls underneath his skin like water that trickles, his shame is still a mask he carries while he knows her mask is a mask of anguish and anger, all pointing directly and only for him, that he cannot bear to see it; his debauchery that still keeps them apart even if only inches away from each other now.

“Won’t you look at me, Jon?”

She is testing him, he knows it, and rightfully so. Jon let out another breath escape his lungs, to let any tension go, for how long has it been since this closeness—and this distinguishable wedge between them that only brought an endless grief? A chase they created that only resulted to circumstances even larger than themselves? With his sin, he watches how the world shakes and crumbles with her sorrow.

“Am I still at liberty to do so?” he asks her now, still gazing far away into the now calmer sea.

“Funny you have to ask that.” Jon hears her walking closer until he can almost feel her arm graze his. “... since you’re never the one to look away, are you not?”

Then he can’t help it. Perhaps it’s her proximity, or her voice that has always been too soft, too kind even in her anger she is too forgiving; maybe it’s just in the simplest idea that she is here to heed his pathetic plea that he finally turns to meet her gaze.

Sansa is standing near that she overwhelms but not enough to have his fill. Always, this greed of his would someday become the reason for his banishment and further torment.

The warm breeze, her lovely creation, lightly carries strands of her hair away and to her face it creates a certain softness around her features. Jon is aching to reach out and tuck it behind her ears. He has missed this. He has missed her.

And for all that he has come to know and treasure about her wherein their history no longer presents the value of time, for in truth, time is irrelevant for beings like themselves, she can only always surprise him still. Because for all that he has done and regretted, at this moment of his grief and confession and plea, to see her smile again, at him, almost so fondly and so painfully familiar, Jon only wants to weep.

“There you are.” she whispers. And then after a little while, she playfully reiterates, “ _Hello, Jon_.”

A smirk almost finds itself on his lips.  “ _Sansa_.”

With a breath, she turns her gaze back to the sea, giving him the opportunity to simply stare at this wonder before him and never truly knowing of when he can ever stop. Perhaps this can be his last judgement. That as he crumbles to dust beneath her feet to pay for all his mistakes, he could leave this world and into another knowing that she was the last he’d seen here.

Somberly she says, “I didn’t think I would be coming here today.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

She chuckles. “I know. This is not the first time you’ve tried.”

“A long time has passed since the last one.”

“How many? Three… four, five hundred years?”

“ _Six_.”

“Oh.”

Looking down, Sansa nudges the grass with her boots and frowns. “You could have at least grew this spot shorter. They itch.”

Jon only shrugs. He’s never been back this part of the world since they last saw each other. It’s only because of his dreams, the nostalgic beauty of it, where they reunite on the same spot they parted keep him from entirely abandoning it. And always with the smallest of hopes, the promise of this reunion is what makes him try to always lead her back one day and make her remember it all; remember what they were before all of the reasons, all of the chaos.

“How you’ve been?” Sansa fills in the silence. “Was it you, then? That new stream I found in the Wolfswood, did you create it?”

“Perhaps.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You were parched.”

“I could have managed to find something for myself.”

“Where? Back in the city? No.”

Sansa shakes her head at him. “I’ve spent time with them, Jon.”

“ _Too much time_.”

“… and they’re not too terrible.”

Jon huffs. “People are terrible. And selfish. They destroy everything we build.”

“But in the last centuries or so, not everything was entirely their fault. _You know that_.”

That gives him a pause for it’s true. Earthquakes cannot be any mere mortal’s work.

The silence that resumes is a terrifying thing. He knows that the deeper they dwell into the destruction of this earth, the faster old wounds can resurface. And Sansa, his brilliant, intelligent Sansa, knows this all too well that she dives for it, plunges them both into the darkness they created and for the longest time, avoided.

“Have you heard from her, then?” she asks finally, “Visited her, perhaps?”

Jon stiffens for how could she even think he would dare? Not after everything that has happened. Not after the fires or the mountains that spilled it. No, no one can ever ask Jon again of this, of _her_ and the deceitful charm underneath the lilac eyes he failed to resist; the fury that possessed her silvery hair that he also failed to tame. Only when he woke up to finally make sense of it all, to finally see again as soon as the smoke and the haze cleared, did Jon realize the enormity of what he’d done. Of the betrayal he’d made, of the raging storm he had instigated, of the human lives the three of them wasted soon after.

And so perhaps, because everything Sansa had feared then has happened, everything he promised he’d never do, he did, and even if the question pains him so, Jon knows it is exactly the same question that haunts and pains her too.

“No, I haven’t.” he answers almost too stiffly, too bitterly. “Why should I?”

She shrugs. “You tell me.”

“I would not make the same mistake again, Sansa."

“No?”

“ _No_.”

Sansa digs her hands inside the pockets of her jacket and walks the length of the edge of the cliff. Jon can only follow. Below, the sea crashes soundly again and the wind whiffs harder, bellowing and dancing between the skirt of her dress, the curl of his hair. Jon does not need to guess that these changes can only reflect what she feels, her sudden turmoil and anger evident even within her elements.

“Are you following me, Jon Snow?” she asks, back still turned to him as she continues to walk.

“Yes.” _Always_.

“Is that what you’ve whispered to your wolf too, the one who follows me wherever I go until I budge and agree to meet with you?”

He chuckles at that.

“You’re lucky you know,” Sansa stops and turns around to meet him. “To have such powers. To control the ground and the life it sustains. You create them, nourish them, give life to them… and then, you can destroy them too. And take everything that you’ve given.”

“You can do that too.”

“Me?” she laughs, turning again to resume her walk. “To take one’s life away? I can never do that.”

“You can make them drown or crush them with a tidal wave. You can take away the air they breathe.” Jon argues, hating at how much she belittles herself at the moment. But then Sansa stops in her tracks and gives him a sideway glance of pure wonder, pure curiosity. Then she asks.

“But why would I do that?”

 _You did it once_ , he wants to remind her. _Thousands of years ago, we both did. Destroyed everything we’ve built_.

They reach a short curve of the cliff and as they walk along the path, the shore below reveals a quaint view of a small, white house erected on the pebbled beach surrounded by mossy green bushes and old, wet drift woods.

Sansa halts and stares.  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

He looks at her. “Yes. Just lovely.”

She takes a deep breath before turning to him again, almost challenging. “Is this what you want?”

Urgently, despairingly, truthfully—he can only whisper the one word he will forever offer to her.

“ _Yes._ ”

Sansa looks back at the cottage then to him, another wonder on her face. “Exactly how long did it take you to plan all of this and take me back here?”

“Not much.”

“Really? Then how did you find me?”

“Simple,” Jon smiles at her. And grappling the last of his courage and strength, he crosses the distance between them and pushes strands of her red hair away from her lovely, lovely face. “ _I followed the rain._ ”

She frowns at him, almost softening, as if discovering.

“ _Jon._ ”

“ _Sansa._ ”

The tenderness is palpable Jon can almost taste it in his mouth, a certain realization he knows that is awfully too good to be true. A single fear resides in him, disrupting any semblance of warmth that grows and urging him to only hold Sansa closer, for it taunts and mocks and teases that this, this moment, is not going to last long enough.

And so, Jon decides he’d take whatever he can, at whatever amount of it she can give to him, before the trance breaks and she’d completely disappear on him again.

Resting his forehead on hers, Jon asks her finally of the sole purpose of why he wants to see her again—on this cliff where they first loved each other, surrounded by the elements they keep; of the sky, the air, the earth, and the sea; here now, in the middle and in between the world they created where all of it, all of her and all of him, meet and encase itself in that small white house once made out of her laughter and her kisses, of quiet mornings, of endless dreams, and of exchanged promises they failed to keep.

The words he wishes to say are already on the tip of his tongue that a moment of weakness is all it takes for him to finally utter it. But the deep selfishness in those words leaves something sour in his mouth that asking for it—demanding for it—is not the way he wants this to end.

 _Stay_.

But instead, Jon chooses to ask her something far greater than all the destruction they’ve once made. He holds Sansa tightly even if his fears are seeping, his anguish reeling; the ground trembling and shaking underneath his feet for this could be the only chance he could ask her of this.

“Can you forgive me?” he finally murmurs. “That is all I ask. Your forgiveness for everything that I’ve done.”

The wind then whirls around them and he finds Sansa’s eyes well with tears. Jon does not want to imagine it but it’s as if he is seeing her own thoughts in his, he could tell how she’s relieving the most painful days where any form of hesitation did not exist; a short, threatening moment of an Armageddon eclipsing and hovering the earth while they both try to break each other.

He feels the pain of it all over again and the heaviness escalates for this moment also appears to shatter them again. The wind continues to howl and the earth shakes harder Sansa holds onto him for support. But as the last of the images of their wrath disappear in her mind, and in the present, Jon finally feels her nod, mumbling the words softly as if the purest of secrets.

“I forgive you _._ ”

Jon nods once and smiles for it should be enough. But when Sansa still does not let go and the nearness of her almost suffocates him, he can’t help but pull her closer so he can have more, even for one last time.

He kisses her deeply, like the way he once did and like the way he never will again.

But before he can take in the fullness of it, or of the repercussions this one innocent kiss might bring, swiftly, Jon pulls himself and walks away, afraid that if he doesn’t now, then he’ll never be able to do so anymore. Unmindful but aware he’s far enough from the edge of the cliff where he left her, another brush of familiar wind caresses his face smelling, as always, of winter blooms. He’s on the verge of reprimanding her to stop teasing and relieve him of the torment but he hears her voice, soft and audible, forgiving and sure that any form of retaliation never makes it out of his lips.

He turns around to see Sansa already walking towards him. And before he could even begin to fathom the sweet image of her that already penetrates deeply into his wanting and waiting and depraved heart, her words reach him finally like spring that awakens.

 “ _Won’t you stay, Jon?_ ”

* * *

 


End file.
